


Bad Cop | Dean Winchester x Reader

by allipaige



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Reader, BAMF Sam Winchester, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Horror, Hunters & Hunting, Paranormal, Protective Dean Winchester, Romance, Thriller, hunter reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allipaige/pseuds/allipaige
Summary: Dean interrogates the reader when the Winchesters suspect that she may have a part to play in their current case.Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You, Sam Winchester & You, sam winchester & reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Bad Cop | Dean Winchester x Reader

**Warnings: Mature language, slight violence, mention of violence/gore**

* * *

You smirked to yourself, leaning back with a nonchalant sigh and propping your feet on the interrogation table in front of you. You leaned your chair back, balancing it effortlessly, folding your hands behind your head. Your eyes flick up to the frustrated man in front of you. Irritation radiated from his tall, muscular frame in waves.

“I need to know why you were in that bar last night.” His green eyes flashed when you rolled your eyes.

“Dean, was it?” You asked, cocking your head to the side in a mocking way. His eyes clouded with anger. You didn’t care. “Why do you _need_ to know anything? My business sure as hell ain’t any of your business.”

His hands slammed on the hard wood of the table, making you jump and your chair nearly slide out from underneath you.

“Sweetheart, _your_ business seems to be the cause of over 10 innocent people getting their guts yanked out of their stomachs!” Dean yelled, his deep, menacing voice alarming you. You cleared your throat awkwardly and tried to pass off your moment of weakness.

You avoided his eyes. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Really. Then I guess that’s why we found you standing in the middle of that bar covered in blood!”

You met his eyes suddenly, anger of your own boiling up inside of you like a venomous serpent. Telling this Dean the truth was absolutely out of the question. It’d only get you locked up in a mental hospital for the rest of your life.

“Look,” you seethed through your teeth, fury surging through your veins and settling in your coiled muscles, “I _can’t_ tell you why I was there. But one thing I sure as hell _can_ tell you is that I had nothing to do with all of those people dying!”

Dean stood straighter, his lip curling in menace and his eyes staring down at you with disdain. The venomous monster inside your chest growled. You hated it when people looked at you like that, like you were some dirty thing that needed to be stomped out. Dean circled the table, roughly yanking his tie from around his neck. You ignored the primal thoughts that quickly popped into your conscious at the look in his eye and the way the now slightly-unbuttoned shirt revealed a sliver of toned chest. His flawless jaw clenched and he was suddenly in front of you, his face inches from your own, and before you knew it, your hands were tied in front of you in an impenetrable knot.

You huffed in shock and indignation, but mostly at yourself. You were a hunter, for God’s sake, you should’ve seen that one coming. You were perfectly capable of taking on a fully-grown vamp nest by yourself but you were distracted by a pretty face for two seconds and a crooked cop had managed to tie you like a prized hog in seconds flat.

Dean put both hands on the armrests of your chair, his face remaining inches from your own. His hot, sporadic breath fanned your face. You cursed inwardly when you realized that he was just as handsome up close. His clear green eyes stared into yours unforgivingly.

“If you’re not gonna play nice, then I won’t either,” he whispered smugly, surging your anger enough to temporarily overtake your hormones.

“I’m. Not. The. Killer.” You’re voice was clipped and as much as you wished the menace in it matched his, it came off as less threatening. His face only twisted more, and it actually made you uncomfortable with him this close. You felt unsafe for the first time in that room.

“Look, I don’t have time to play around,” he hissed, and you suddenly realized there was a knife in his hand. What kind of cop was this?! The blade was at your throat before you could blink. Before you knew it, you were in hunter mode, and it all happened so fast.

You stomped both of your feet onto his as hard as you possibly could, causing him to jump in shock and eliciting a loud curse from him. The next second, you planted your boots against his kneecaps and pushed, launching your chair back feet away from him, hopping out of it and kicking it as hard as you could towards him, but he didn’t stay stunned for long. The knife was flying through the air towards your right shoulder, but you dodged it effortlessly. It slid into the wall behind you, a part of the blade still exposed, and in one swift sweep of your arms, the soft tie bounding your hands was falling into slices on the ground at your feet.

“What the _hell_ kind of cop are you?!” You spluttered at him, your eyes wide but furious as you yanked the knife from the wall and pointed it at his chest. Dean’s angry green ones were equally as wide, and you realized with dread that he’d pulled a gun during the struggle and was pointing it at you with his finger on the trigger.

His lip curled threateningly as he spoke. “I don’t wanna use this, but God help me, I will. Now sit the hell down.”

“What happened to my rights?! I want a phone call!” You swore you never would, but you may have to call Garth for help. Granted, the last time you were in some deep shit he hadn’t answered.

“SIT DOWN!” Dean raged, the gun lowering to point toward your chest. Your mind raced through the multiple directions this could take, and unless you got extremely lucky with your aim, the knife was useless. The gun was much faster. You kicked yourself for leaving yours on the floor back in the bar.

“Fine, I’m sitting, calm the fuck down,” you spat, your eyes constantly shifting between the barrel of the gun and Dean’s unrelenting green eyes. The barrel and his eyes followed you to the chair you’d managed to slide halfway across the room. Once you were seated, Dean lowered the gun but didn’t stow it.

“Every second we waste in this damn room is another second that someone else could die,” he said, the words even more laced with fury through his teeth. He walked towards you but stopped a distance away, obviously weary of you pulling another stunt. His free hand ran through his hair.

“Do you think I don’t know that?!” You exclaimed. You were working this damn case, trying to kill whatever the hell this was, and you were two seconds from walking in on the thing devouring the last barman before it disappeared at the sound of police cars roaring into the front drive, a Chevy Impala not far behind. You’d rushed inside, slipping on the copious amount of blood on the floor, covering you in it. Your clothes were still sticky and they stunk to high heaven.

“What do you know?!” Dean demanded, his fist colliding with the table. You didn’t jump this time.

“No offense, Agent Asshole, but I think that whatever this is a little out of your depth,” you said sardonically before you could stop yourself. Shit. You and your big mouth.

His facial expression suddenly changed and his back straightened, and to your surprise, confusion wasn’t there. It was some kind of caution.

“And just what do you mean by that?”

You bit the inside of your cheek in a vain attempt to punish yourself. Now you had to lie yourself out of your own pot of word vomit.

You looked away from him, his face and disarming green eyes scrambling your nervous thoughts more than you’d care to admit.

“Nothing,” you eventually muttered. Great. Brilliant. That’s all you could come up with.

“Do you know what’s killing all of these people?” Dean asked, and suddenly he’d gathered his courage enough to approach you again. Your narrowed eyes watched him warily as he knelt in front of you, his entire demeanor changed.

Suddenly you realized, he hadn’t said “who”. He hadn’t asked you _who_ was killing all of those people, he’d asked you _what_.

“Oh, you’ve got to be _shitting_ me,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. Your body slumped in the chair as your tense muscles uncoiled and you ran a hand through your blood-caked hair. All of this bullshit could have been avoided. “You’re a hunter, aren’t you?!”

Dean’s epiphany came seconds after yours. He groaned exasperatedly. “What the hell?! Why didn’t you say - ”

“Why didn’t I _say anything?_ ” you asked incredulously. “What was I supposed to say?! I thought you were some cop that had serious anger management issues!”

Dean’s gun hit the table with a loud clack. He collapsed into the only other chair, his hand running through his brown hair once again. “Well, shit. We’ve wasted three hours in this damn room when that thing is still out there sucking out intestines like they’re freaking pasta.”

“Well who’s fault is that?” you countered, standing out of your chair confidently and striding toward him. His eyes regarded you disbelievingly.

“You’re kidding me right?”

You didn’t answer, you just held out your hand. “I’d like my weapons back, please. It’s the least you can do after that unnecessary pat down and fifty shades shit.”

He just raised eyebrows and you thought you saw the shadow of a smirk on his face. You ignored the lazy flip in your stomach. He half smiled as he reached into his jacket and handed you back your signature knife and small homemade grenade.

You fingered it gingerly and circled it in your hands, showing it to him. “Come on, you should’ve known as soon as you saw this thing. It’s filled with salt.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “How was I supposed to know you weren’t some psycho freak with a pyro fetish?”

“Whatever.” You put your weapons back in their rightful place. “Well, _Dean_ , you and your friend can head back out of town now that this mess is cleared up. I’ve got this handled.”

Dean scoffed and stood, towering at least and head and a half over you. You ignored how small you felt. After all, you’d taken on monsters bigger than him.

“Well, from the looks of it, sweetheart, you could use a little help,” he smiled down at you, and it was somehow demeaning. You instantly felt the flow of venom in your veins again. “The body count is in double digits and the vics are getting eaten faster by the day, not to mention the little fact that the killings have been going on for _weeks_.” You huffed. “You’ve been on this case from the beginning?”

You didn’t answer, the challenging stare he sent you making your fists clench and unclench by your sides. You kept eye contact with him, unwavering. The thing was, you were a good hunter. A damn good one. And the fact that you’d been having trouble with this hunt was something that was extremely unfamiliar to you. You’d been obsessively following this thing, but you were always one step behind, _always_. It’s like it could read your mind.

You’d been considering for days to call in help, on attempting to call Garth again, anyone. But the fact that these assholes just show up unannounced on your case, without being asked, not to mention the fact they’d had you detained for at least a day, seriously wasting your time and keeping you from reading lore, researching, and maybe even killing this thing, really pissed you off.

“No, nope, I’m pretty sure I don’t need a couple of meat heads getting in my way. Thanks, though,” you feigned sincerity, turning on your heel. Dean was in front of the door before you could get a hand on the knob. Damn, he was quick.

“Well, these _meat heads_ saved your ass back there,” he hissed at you. You rolled your eyes.

“I had - ”

“Yeah, yeah, you had it under control, right?” he finished for you, his green orbs flashing. “So you’re telling me that you knew that thing probably lured you there? That it was waiting for you to let your guard down before it ripped you to bits?”

You opened your mouth to speak but the words congealed into a lump in your throat. How could you have been so stupid? Weeks of sleep deprivation and living off of coffee hadn’t done you any favors. The look on your face was enough of an answer for Dean.

“We’re coming with you, whether you like it or not,” he smirked.

“This - this is _my_ case!” you stammered angrily.

“Yeah, and now it’s ours,” he winked at you. Your anger outroared the hormone-filled color that was begging to rush to your face. He rolled his eyes as you tried to form words but couldn’t, your fury rendering you speechless. He opened the door. “Look, you have done a lot of the grunge work for us, so we’re not just gonna yank the case from you, alright? You can backseat it.”

He was out the door and you were left following his long strides, shouting expletives at him because they were the only thing making it through the lump of pure frustration in your larynx.

“ _Backseat it?!_ ” you finally managed to shrilly demand. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“That or we can just take over completely, however you wanna play,” Dean rounded on you, the impala running behind him with his even taller partner in the driver’s seat. The guy waved feebly at you, almost apologetically.

Your eyes darted between Dean and the Impala angrily. After a beat, you muttered “Asshole” and strutted to the car with as much dignity as you could muster, opening the backseat door and slamming into the seat, closing the door as hard and as loudly as you could. You crossed your arms in satisfaction at the look on Dean’s face through the windshield when you were rough with the door.

His partner turned to you, a hesitant but amused look on his face. “You probably shouldn’t have done that.”

Dean was already giving you an earful before he was fully into the passenger seat. You tuned out halfway through, something about respecting his car and “we-don’t-have-to-drive-your-ungrateful-***” something or other. You just stared out the window with your chin in your hand and legs crossed, focusing on the scenery passing you by.

Eventually the rant ended with Dean glaring angrily out the windshield and his partner awkwardly introducing himself. You introduced yourself in return. At least Sam seemed like a decent, level-headed human being. Dean was a hot-headed asshole - granted, an incredibly good-looking one, but that was completely beside the point. You kind of liked seeing the flash in his eyes. It was fun. You smirked at the thought.

One thing was for sure - it was gonna be a long day.


End file.
